Whiskey and Deviled Eggs
by Scandalous Dreams
Summary: This is the life of Kira Steele. Through this story of her rise in power and eventual demise, she will encounter an ex-raider, smooth talking business man, and a rotting sack of flesh.


**Chapter 1**

_This is my first Fallout story. It's set in Fallout 3. The main character is our lovely bad mouthing Lone Wanderer. The M rating is more because of the language, and there will be a lot of coarse language. Alcohol will be involved as well. Reviews will be appreciated, especially ones concerning grammar and the like. Enjoy._

It all started with a Saloon.

The bar was dimly lit and warm. Actually, anything in this new world was warm. Well fuckin hot to be truthful. I think it was then that I swooped a blue-sleeved arm across my furrowed brow. Kinda poetic, heh. So yeah, I did that. Looking around the place I approached what I more or less assumed was a stool. It was hard and uncomfortable.

The place smelled terrible, like the smell Butch wafted in when he came back from spending the whole class time to 'use the bathroom'. Oh yeah, I hate him, him and his gang of stupid ass Tunnel Snakes. Look at us, we can bully girls because we have issues with our one-inch ding a lings. A-s-s-h-o-l-e-s.

"What do you have for drinks?" My throat ached.

Seriously, I laugh my ass off every time I remember this. First, the guy turns around. Second, he looks at my mouth. Third, he speaks in the most gravely, rough voice I ever heard. And then I look at his face. I admit, at first, before I got to know them as people, I honestly thought they were the ugliest, scariest mother F'ers I would ever meet. They're still gross looking, but they are definitely not the scariest things in this small, small world.

Its face was falling off! Ha ha ha ha! Falling. Off. I. Tell. You! So you know what I do? I jump five feet in the air and fall on my ass trying to get away from this monstrosity. I think I pulled out my gun, Gob and Jericho tell me a different story, but I think I did that. Screaming and cursing and bitching that this thing, which with a decaying face seemed to be just out of a monster flick back from the Vault, was actually talking to me!

"Holy shit son 'a bitch!" The gun was safety off. Sometime between me flying through the air and breaking my backend I must have pulled it. The silver snout aimed for the ugly creature.

Then a person behind me karate chopped my tense arms with the bunt of a big gun, causing my pistol to go flying from my hands and next to the staircase. There wasn't much I could do at that point. I probably was going to be raped and killed and robbed of anything I had. Which other than my 101 suit and that stupid friggen pistol, I had nothing.

"Put your hands behind your back, girl!"

At this point, I kept thinking, or more or less yelling in my mind, _how the hell am I supposed to do that when you BROKE my ARMS! _Looking up, I realized it was that sheriff, Simms. Of all the damn people to break my arm, it had to be goody two shoes son of a fucking saint, Lucas Simms.

"I said put your arms behind ya girl!" He prodded the nape of my neck with his gun.

Stop laughing! Oh wait, let me guess, that doesn't make you shit your pants? How about a nearly fully loaded semiautomatic Assault rifle poking your neck. His finger twitches and my head goes plunk and splatter all over the metal floor. Bye bye little miss Vault 1-0-1.

"I can't dipshit, you broke my arm!" I swear I could see the spittle fly from my mouth.

Now, Mister Simms was taken aback by my explanation, and probably because he got called a dipshit.

Ok, this is extremely boring. So Simms continued on being an annoying fuck by ignoring my pain filled curses and groans. I swear, put a gilded star on a man and he acts like God himself. Not believing me, he yells into my ear.

"Oh I did huh, let me see."

And so he kneels down and yanks my arm. I, of course, would not lie about having a broken arm. You know how much that hurts? Well, ever grab a stick and snap it in half? Ok, now let me go put on a Power Suit and pretend your arm was that stick. I'm gonna snap your arms in half so bad that you're going to wish I broke your leg.

Ok, ok stop giggling over there, Bessie. I was not the person I am now, so spraining my arm felt like I broke it. Yeah, I am fine. An hour or two later he reluctantly left me in his house alone. Clutching my left wrist, I couldn't help but bust a gut laughing my ass into oblivion. I mean, what idiot leaves a suspect alone in their house? What incompetent buffoon abandones a hostage inside their personal and private domain? Oh yeah, the moron that somehow was in the possession of a really, really old pair of rusty handcuffs.

I don't even think the Vault security had any of these babies. And I should know. Harassing the security force for six years ought to make me an expert on their protocol for subduing criminals. I shuffled in my seat, trying to get a good look at my prison cell.

Metal. Like every other thing in this town, the house was made of metal. Oh, hey honey, I'm home. Made me my rust flavored supreme rust on rust sandwich yet? Blech. Well, there's a kitchen, albeit a small one. Then again we didn't really have big kitchens either. The room I was stuck in must be the living room. Not much for décor. A bookcase, table, and some metal lockers consisted for the homey furniture of our sheriff's humble abode.

The door opened. Running in was a child: short, lanky, and the same race as Simms. Hot damn the mouse ran into the cats paw. Now, I don't know about you, but there was no way in hell I was going to willingly wait for that bastard to come strolling in and interrogate me like a criminal. I pointed a gun at a stranger in self-defense. Honest. Sue me like a pre-war lawyer wearing a monkey suit if you believe otherwise.

"Hey! Are you Simms kid?"

Little my-ticket-outta-here just stopped, almost tripping, and stared at me with an amazed, exaggerated holy shit face.

"Y-Yeah... D-Dad says I shouldn't talk to strangers." He stuttered.

I changed my demeanor to friendly, smiling an innocent grin. I hadn't been able to check what I looked like in those twenty-four hours after I got kicked out of the Vault, but I was sure I didn't look scary. At least I hoped I didn't.

"Come on, kid. Why would I be in your dad's house if I were a stranger?"

He scrunched his nose as he thought it over. It was an action that made me act like it was irritating. Although I wish to never admit it, I found the gesture adorable.

"Maybe… But why did he put those hand things on you? He told me he only does that with bad people."

The cuffs were really starting to dig into my wrists and my patience, little as it ever is, was wearing thin.

"Alright kid your dad and I are playing game, ok? You're supposed to give me the key to these things so I can go find him, ok? Now why don't you be a good little boy and do that, ok!" It wasn't until I was done talking that I came to the conclusion that somewhere between,

"Give me the key."

And,

"Be a good boy."

I had started screaming. My face was probably twisted into a terrifying grimace. My body flailed against the stupid cuffs.

"You little fucking brat give me the freaking keys or when I'm free I'm gonna do to you the same thing that was done to that fleshy guy at the bar you little-"

"Well, well looke here. You're scarin my boy, girl. What makes you think I won't just take you out back and get rid of you old execution style for all the trouble you caused."

I hated this man with such a passion. If only he could see my true feelings being radiated off my body. And I hated that stupid nickname, girl.

"Fist off, my name's Kira. So stop calling me that idiotic nickname. Second, do I look like I have plans to kill everyone? I stopped by because it was the closest thing that looked like civilization. Third, I came from a Vault. Do ya think I ever seen a Gall before?"

"…Ghoul."

"Whatever! I made a mistake. The lesson I learned quick out here is to shoot first if it looks like it can fuckin eat me! And the kid,"

I took in a gulp of air, left breathless from my long rant. I took this as a moment to also calm my self down. My heart was beating three beats a second and I felt like it was going to pound out of my chest like a jackhammer. I closed my eyes and counted to ten, dad taught me that, and opened them to look Simms in the eyes.

"The kid came in at the wrong time. Do you think anyone else in my position wouldn't have done what I did?"

"Actually, I can name a few who wouldn't." Of course he knew people. "But I also know even more people who wouldn't look twice to put a bullet in Gob's hide."

"Gob?"

"That's his name."

"It has a name!"

"Yes, _his _name is, Gob. He's the bartender for Moriarty's Saloon."

"Ah…" I drifted off.

They named their monsters. A male monster I could tell from Simms' emphasis. Wow. How would I do this? Oh, hey there! Sorry I tried to shoot you until you were dead as fucking dirt. Let's go out for beers. That ought to help you forgive and forget. Maybe we'll eventually become lovers and then we can tell our kids this dramatic and embarrassing story of our first meeting. Yes, Junior, I tried to shoot daddy. No Susie, I used a 10mm, not a .32, darling.

What a great beginning in this world of absolute shit.

.


End file.
